


Reds and Yellows, Browns and Blues

by tatooedlaura



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Fall is tough for a guy who’s color-blind.





	Reds and Yellows, Browns and Blues

Fall is tough for a guy who’s color-blind. People are always commenting on the flaming reds and crimson reds and titian reds and scarlet reds and dark reds and burnt reds and good fucking hell, he wished they would shut up about the reds. He saw what he equated to a gigantic mess of brown and yellow … a mustard-shaded nightmare, if you will.

His mother had once shown him a jar of brown mustard and said, “remember this color. This is what mustard yellow looks like.”

He hated how that mustard tasted so now he equated that shade with biting tongue and bitter buds.

His mother also pointed out what red should look like by using a fire engine. He saw a darker shade of the mustard jar contents.

There goes the typical childhood fantasy of wanting to be a fireman.

Scully’s hair, as far as everyone told him, was a fantastic shade of red but after several years, he simply convinced himself that it was a nice shade of brown, picking a random name for it, ‘German Chocolate Brownie” and living his life, touching, smelling, feeling but never seeing, which, in the end, was fine for him.

Scully knew he was color-blind from the second day they’d met.

She made an unconscious choice after that to avoid wearing red. Granted, most parts of that spectrum clashed with her hair but she could pull it off when properly coiffed. For Mulder, however, she stuck to blues and greys, blacks, whites. At first, not the easiest thing to do with her limited wardrobe but she did her best and eventually, her closet converted to things that he could see most clearly.

Today she had on a blue sweater, v’ed at the neck, lengthed to her elbow, nary a hint of bra strap or stray thread. It was one of his favorites from the sweater collection and since they were done with their case and driving through northern Michigan in October, she also had on her dark jeans and well-worn, well-loved boots, navy blue in nature, yellow-sewn seams darkened with age.

The airport was still over an hour away, if you could call it that, Mulder had forgotten the name already, relying on Scully’s navigational brilliance to get them where they needed to be when they needed to be. At the moment, it was mid-afternoon and their flight wasn’t until the following morning so Mulder was driving slower than normal, relaxing at the wheel with his Scully by his side.

It was the third quiet sigh that made him begin watching her, see her staring out the window, taking in all those colors she, with an abrupt realization on his part, never commented on. Sometimes she’d swing her head around so she could look out his window but mostly she kept her not-so-well hidden awe of nature confined to her side of the vehicle.

Well, hell on wheels.

Pulling over at some pristinely clean roadside park, he let her stare at him in confusion for a minute, before, “so,” turning the car off, “I think we need to stretch our legs.” Next, he opened the door, stood, reaching his arms upward and even groaned for effect, “we’re going for a walk.”

Seeing right through his crap, “is this your little ploy to get me to drive ‘cause you could have just asked.”

Mulder grinned over the top of the car, shutting the door as he did so, “nope, just want a walk.”

Suspicion ran high in their relationship at times but given his open look, genuine smile, she relaxed, “lead the way.”

There were two trails to choose from and Mulder, being Mulder, turned left, crunching them through ten minutes of fallen leaves and branches before popping out at a scenic overlook with a spectacular view of valley and river. She’d heard him once comment, about a year into their partnership, that he wished people would shut up about fall colors and she had ever since but this view, this vision before her, made her grab his hand, “God, Mulder, look at it! It’s beautiful!”

And for the first time in forever, he saw the beauty of the world, even the mustard yellow shades of it were made attractive when she enjoyed them.

Because she enjoyed them.

Squeezing her hand back, then slipping a finger or two between hers, knuckle against knuckle, “I wish I could see them like you do.”

Scully moved her hand, wiggling her arm around his, hugging his bicep, cheek against his pullover, “you know what my favorite color is?”

“Red?”

“No … it’s blue. Now ask me why?”

Wondering where he was being led but enjoying it nonetheless, “why?”

“Because that’s the one you see best.”

“Are we not here to see the leaves though?”

With a slight chuckle, she gripped him harder, “no. We’re here to see the sky. Have you ever seen such a clear, deep blue? Makes the leaves pale in comparison.”

And he held his tongue, wanting to blurt out that she made everything pale in comparison.

Instead, he sat them on a rock and took in the beauty that was azure blue.

It matched her eyes.

Those were his favorite color, too.


End file.
